


The Wrong Trouser-Leg of Time

by kathkin



Series: Trouser Verse [1]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-30
Updated: 2010-07-30
Packaged: 2017-12-17 22:40:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/872777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kathkin/pseuds/kathkin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For <a href="http://community.livejournal.com/kinkme_merlin/13287.html?thread=11347687#t11347687">this prompt</a> over at <a href="http://kinkme-merlin.livejournal.com/profile"><img class="i-ljuser-userhead"/></a><a class="i-ljuser-username" href="http://kinkme-merlin.livejournal.com/"></a><b>kinkme_merlin</b>. Arthur thinks the space-time continuum is messing with him, but perhaps it's actually making things the way they're meant to be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Beta'd by [](http://ella-bane.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://ella-bane.livejournal.com/)**ella_bane**. And written all in one day, go me! \o/

His first thought upon waking up in a stranger’s bed was simply, _bloody hell, how much did I drink last night?_ His second was that, come to think of it, he hadn’t even gone out last night.

 

All that was visible of the other occupant of the bed was a mop of dark hair on the pillow, a pale shoulder. Arthur gave silent thanks that she was still asleep and made a move to get up.

 

Then she rolled over with a sleepy mumble and his heart stopped. _She_ was a _he_ and _he_ was blinking up at Arthur sleepily.

 

“You going somewhere?” he said, rubbing at his eyes.

 

Okay, okay. Sexuality freak-out later. Now he just had to _get out_. “Uh, yeah,” said Arthur. “I’ve got to get home. Sorry.”

 

The other man frowned, pushed himself up on his elbow. “What do you mean?”

 

“It was… a lot of fun… but now I’m going home. Bye.” He began to swing his legs out of the bed, but the man rose up and caught him by the shoulder, pressed a gentle kiss to his neck. Arthur shivered.

 

“You are home, silly,” he said. Was he smiling? It felt like he was smiling. And oh _bollocks_ , he was crazy. Arthur had gone and slept with a complete nutter. He must have been even more desperate that he thought.

 

“Right,” he said, patting the man’s hand gently. Soothing. “You just go back to sleep, alright? I’m just… going to use the bathroom. Yeah.”

 

“Come back soon, yeah?” said the man. He lay down again with a sigh. Arthur waited till his eyes fluttered closed, then began to look for his clothes.

 

There was a pair of boxers on the floor, but he didn’t think they were his. Other than that, the room was mostly tidy. Arthur took a deep breath, prayed that his clothes hadn’t been stolen – it would not be the first time – and padded out into the hallway.

 

That, he decided later, was when things started to get _really fucking weird_. Cause right outside the door was a framed photo of him and the dark-haired man he’d just left in the bed, sitting next to each other on a beach. He tried not to panic. Why was it that only people who were _completely insane_ ever wanted to have sex with him?

But then, a little further along the wall, was the same framed print that Morgana had given him for his last birthday, the really ugly one he’d only put up so she wouldn’t complain every time she came to visit. And over there by the door, that was quite definitely his umbrella stand. He’d had it for years. He stood awkwardly in his pyjamas for a moment, then ducked into the living room.

 

His DVDs, lined up on a shelf. His cushions spread across the sofa. His arm chair. The sofa… it wasn’t his, but it looked like something he’d pick out. The photos dotted around were all of him and that man, him and the man and Morgana, and Gwen, and Lance, and his other friends.

 

Either, he supposed, someone had robbed him and put all his stuff in this new flat, along with a load of stuff that really wasn’t his – the curtains were hideous, they really were, and there were three shelves of dull-looking books – or, well…

 

“I live here?” he said a few minutes later, back in the bedroom.

 

“Wha’?” said the man, staring up at him.

 

“Since when do I live _here_?” said Arthur.

 

“Since… about six years ago?” said the man. “When we moved in. Are you feeling alright, love?”

 

“I think I’m losing my mind,” said Arthur. He sank down onto the edge of the bed.

 

The man’s arms snaked around his shoulders. Fingers trailed through his hair.

 

“It’s Sunday,” he said. “You know how I feel about Sundays.”

 

“Do I?” said Arthur.

 

“Come back to bed,” he said. Soft lips tugged on Arthur’s ear. “Don’t need to be up for hours.”

 

 _I’m straight_ , Arthur wanted to say. _And I’m pretty sure one of us is insane_. _And did I mention I’m straight?_ But in the end, all he said was, “Yeah, okay.”

 

Then everything was sweet and soft and gentle, and the other man seemed to know exactly where Arthur liked to be touched, just how long to spend teasing before tugging down his pyjama bottoms and taking him into his mouth, and Arthur hadn’t come so hard in years.

 

He fell asleep again afterwards with the man draped over his chest, making sleepy, contented noises. His last thought was just, _well, that’s alright, then_.

 

 

*

 

 

When Arthur woke up for the second time, the little clock next to the bed was just ticking round to half past eleven, and he was alone in the bed. He stumbled upright, rubbing his eyes, and took a peek around the curtains.

 

It was the right city, to his relief, just from completely the wrong angle. He was halfway across town from his own flat. There was a church bell chiming somewhere. That was new. He clutched at the curtains, suddenly dizzy, disoriented.

 

He took a few minutes to get his breath back, then headed back out into the hallway. There was a door open now, sunlight spilling through. He could hear footsteps, a gentle sizzling sound. Was that… bacon?

 

The dark-haired man was in the kitchen, wearing ratty jeans and a dark t-shirt, cooking bacon and eggs. “Oh, you up?” he said, nonchalant. “I’m making breakfast.”

 

“Right,” said Arthur. He steadied himself on the doorframe. That was his toaster, he thought, but every else seemed to be new. “Um. Okay. Okay.”

 

“These are the last two eggs. We'll have to buy more,” said the man.

 

“Okay,” said Arthur, inspiration striking. “Let’s… play a game.”

 

“What kind of game?” said the man, finally looking at him, brow crinkling into a frown. His eyes were very blue. Arthur hadn’t noticed before.

 

“I like to call it the ‘let’s pretend Arthur has amnesia’ game,” said Arthur. “It’s lots of fun, alright?”

 

“How does it work?” said the man.

 

“I pretend I have amnesia,” said Arthur, “and I ask you questions, and you answer them. So, I ask you who you are, say.”

 

The man blinked. Arthur gestured for him to speak. “Um,” he said, poking at the bacon. “I’m… Merlin. I’m your husband?”

 

“Husband,” said Arthur, stomach plummeting to the floor. “Right. Okay. So how long have we been married?”

 

“Four years and three months,” said Merlin, quickly, automatically. Then, “Arthur, are you alright?”

 

“I’m fine,” said Arthur, crossing his arms. “It’s just a game.”

 

“You’re acting really weird this morning,” said Merlin. He poked at the bacon again, more viciously this time.

 

“It’s just I’m pretty sure one of us is completely insane,” Arthur blurted out.

 

“Oh, really?” said Merlin.

 

“I’m also pretty sure I’m straight,” said Arthur. “And I have no idea what’s going on.”

Merlin turned off the cooker briskly. “Breakfast’s done,” he said. “Will you stop fucking around, now, please?”

 

“I’m not fucking around!” said Arthur. “I’m just… I’m not your husband, alright? I don’t have a husband! I’m straight!”

 

He was panicking, that’s all. He hadn’t wanted to make that horrible hurt look cross Merlin’s face. He opened his mouth to apologise, to take it back, but no words came out.

 

“This isn’t funny, Arthur,” said Merlin. He threw down his spatula. “Look, I’m going out for a walk, alright? And maybe when I come back you can _not_ be playing the amnesia game, alright?” He stormed out of the kitchen. A moment later, the front door slammed, and Arthur was left alone with a still-sizzling pan of bacon and eggs.

 

 

*

 

 

He couldn’t quite bring himself to eat the breakfast. He deposited it onto a plate and put it away in the fridge (and that was his favourite kind of cheese, his processed chicken slices, but none of the ready-meals that normally dominated his kitchen).

 

He wandered around the flat, investigated the living room, the bathroom, the box room. Found some of his own clothes in the bedroom. Opened all the curtains. Waited for Merlin to come back.

 

After an hour, he settled himself down on the sofa with the phone, and dialled the only number he could remember by heart, hoping it was still right in – wherever he was now.

 

It rang, at least. He counted the rings – _one, two, three, four_ – until there was an answer.

 

“Hello?” said a blissfully familiar voice.

 

“Morgana,” he said, relief flooding through him. “Thank God.”

 

“Everything alright?” she said.

 

“I just – I need to ask you something,” he said. “This might sound kind of… insane.”

 

“Go on,” she said, amusement tingeing her voice.

 

He took a deep breath. “Am I married to a guy called Merlin?”

 

There was a short pause. “Well, yes,” she said. “At least you were last time I saw you. Is something wrong?”

 

“Morgana, I think the space-time continuum is fucking with me,” he said. “I swear to God, yesterday I was single and straight, and now I’m married to a man.”

 

Silence. “Arthur, are you serious?” she said.

 

“Dead serious,” he said.

 

“Well,” she said. “Did you hit your head or something? Maybe you lost your memory.”

 

“I dunno,” he said, feeling his head for lumps. “What’s the date?”

 

“Twenty-fifth of July,” she said, “2010.”

 

“Still the same year, then,” he said.

 

“Maybe you should go and see a doctor,” she said.

 

“There’s nothing wrong with me!” he insisted. “I just – look, I told Merlin I wasn’t his husband and I was straight and then he got all upset and said he was going out for a walk and that was an hour ago and he hasn’t come back yet. I’m worried I’ve gone and ruined everything or something.”

 

Another pause. “You probably brought back some bad memories,” she said. “When you two first got together, it was kind of awkward – you couldn’t make up your mind whether you were straight or not, you kept freaking out and pushing him away.”

 

Arthur groaned and rubbed a hand over his face. “I didn’t mean to hurt him,” he said. “He made me breakfast, Morgana. I don’t think anyone’s made me breakfast since I was a kid. I mean, my last girlfriend was – I don’t know, _years_ , Morgana.”

 

“He’s probably gone to Will’s,” said Morgana. “Do you have the number? It should be in your mobile. Arthur, are you sure you don’t want to see a doctor about this?”

 

“It’s not memory loss, Morgana,” he snapped. “I remember everything. Just not the right everything, I guess. I think maybe we got… switched around. Or something.

 

“Right,” she said. “Well. It’s probably best you don’t call Merlin. He might want some space.”

 

“I don’t want to call Merlin,” said Arthur. “I want my life back. My proper life.”

 

Morgana hung up on him. He glared at the phone, then tossed it to the other end of the sofa, scowling to himself. He didn’t think Morgana had taken him very seriously, somehow.

 

 

*

 

 

It was evening by the time Merlin came back from his ‘walk’. Arthur had spent the day tidying up in the kitchen, taking a better look through Merlin’s stuff – because they were married, apparently, so why not? – and contemplating cooking. There were plenty of ingredients in the fridge. There was even flour and baking stuff in the cupboard. Arthur didn’t think he’d ever baked anything in his life. He wasn’t sure he’d ever cooked anything more complicated than pasta with baked beans and ketchup. But he felt like he should do _something_ , to make it up to Merlin.

 

In the end, he decided to order in. He had just hung up the phone when he heard the front door opening. He reached the hallway just in time to see Merlin toeing off his converse.

 

“Hi,” he said. Merlin smiled weakly. “I’m sorry about earlier, okay? I just… I wasn’t thinking. I don’t know why I thought that’d be funny.”

 

“S’okay,” said Merlin.

 

“I ordered pizza,” he said. Merlin stared at him. “What?”

 

“I’m allergic to tomato,” said Merlin.

 

“What, seriously?” he said.

 

Merlin nodded, then laughed, breathless. “You did the same thing on our first date,” he said. “You took me to a pizza restaurant. I couldn’t decide whether to say anything or not. I didn’t want to hurt your feelings. You were so nervous about the whole thing.”

 

“I don’t get nervous,” said Arthur.

 

“You said that on our first date as well.” Merlin tilted his head to one side and gave Arthur a long, thoughtful look.

 

“I’m sorry, alright?” said Arthur. “I was just trying to… I dunno. Make it up to you for earlier. But I honestly don’t know what’s going on. I swear to God, yesterday I was single, and I lived on the other side of the city.”

 

Merlin took the phone. “If we’re ordering in, I’m having Chinese,” he said, then paused mid-dial. “You’re really not my husband, are you?”

 

Arthur shrugged. “I’m sorry –” Merlin pressed a finger to his lips, silenced him.

“You’re still Arthur, though,” he said. “You’re just… not him.” He took his finger away.

 

“I spoke to Morgana,” said Arthur. “So I’ve established that if either of us is insane, it’s me.”

 

“We can talk about this over dinner, yeah?” said Merlin. He finished dialling, put the phone to his ear.

 

 

*

 

 

“So,” Arthur said, twenty-minutes or so later. “I think the space-time continuum is fucking with us. Morgana thought I might just have lost my memory, but the dates match up. So I think this is a parallel universe or some shit like that.”

 

Merlin was crouched at the other end of sofa, awkward. “Right,” he said, fiddling with his chopsticks. “I guess it kind of makes sense in the way that it doesn’t.”

 

“Well, it’s either that or I’ve completely lost my mind,” said Arthur. “And I prefer my theory, personally.”

 

“You don’t seem crazy to me,” said Merlin. “You just… you’re like you were when we first met.”

 

“How did we meet?” said Arthur, around a mouthful of pizza.

 

“I was working in a café,” said Merlin. “You tripped over my laptop bag, then shouted at me for leaving my stuff on the floor.”

 

“That sounds… romantic,” said Arthur. Merlin smiled. “What was the name of the café?”

 

“The Richmond,” said Merlin. “It closed down a couple of months ago.”

 

“I remember,” said Arthur. “I went in there a few times. I don’t remember you, though. Sorry.”

 

“You don’t have to keep apologising,” said Merlin.

 

“I feel terrible,” said Arthur. “About what I said this morning. I had no idea. I was freaking out, alright? I couldn’t work out if I was going mad or if you were some crazy stalker or what, and I freaked out, and then I hurt your feelings. And, well –” He broke off and took another bite of pizza.

 

“And what?” said Merlin.

 

“It’s just,” said Arthur. “Your Arthur. Your husband. I think we might have just switched around or something. And that means, that means he woke up this morning on his own in my bed, in my flat, with my ready-meals and my collection of porn magazines and my life, and I just feel so bad for him.” Merlin shifted a little further down the sofa. “He’s probably even more confused than I am. I mean at least I had someone here to explain it all. It must feel like you’ve just… vanished.” Merlin’s hand rested on his shoulder, gave it a little squeeze.

 

“It’s not like you did it on purpose,” he said. “It just happened, right?”

 

Arthur took a deep breath. “I want to try and get my life back,” he said. “So you can get your Arthur back, yeah?”

 

Merlin set down his carton of dinner on the coffee table with a sigh, then slid his hand round to rest on the nape of Arthur’s neck, squinting down at his face. “You look exactly the same,” he said. His fingers brushed Arthur’s forehead. “Except my Arthur, he had a scar, just here. You – _he_ was trying to set up this big proposal, with a fountain and doves and stuff, but then the ground was  slippery and he fell and cracked his head open. Then he asked me to marry him in the hospital, while he was getting his head stitched up. And he was kind of concussed, so I wasn’t sure if he meant it or not, and I didn’t know if should just say yes or…”

 

Arthur couldn’t help but laugh. Merlin laughed too, pressed a kiss to his cheek.

 

“So,” said Arthur. “Do I have the same job or what?”

 

“You still work in your Dad’s company,” said Merlin. “If that’s what you mean.”

 

“And what do you do?” said Arthur.

 

“I’m working on my PhD,” said Merlin.

 

“What’s it about?” said Arthur.

 

“Medieval poetry,” said Merlin. “Arthurian literature. It seemed appropriate. You thought it was hilarious when I told you. You said it was brilliant.” His hand slipped under Arthur’s shirt, tracing lines on his back. Arthur shifted, suddenly uncomfortable. “Right,” said Merlin, drawing back. “Sorry.”

 

“I’m straight,” said Arthur, rubbing at the back of his neck. It tingled a little. “I guess your Arthur isn’t, but I am.”

 

Merlin reached for his dinner again. “You seemed pretty into it this morning.”

“Well, you had your mouth – and you were – I couldn’t help it, alright?” Arthur choked out.

 

Merlin’s eyes widened. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I mean, if I was pressuring you or something. I thought you were just being silly.”

 

“I thought I’d slept with another nutter,” said Arthur. “Also I thought you’d stolen my clothes.” Merlin raised his eyebrows. “What? It’s happened before.” His prodded his pizza. It was going cold. “My love-life lately has mostly just been one-nighters with girls from night clubs who are willing to sleep with me. Which is most girls in night clubs, to be honest. But I always end up with the nutters anyway. They just really like me or something, I dunno.”

 

“I’m not a nutter,” offered Merlin.

 

“You’re a man,” said Arthur.

 

“I just meant,” said Merlin. “I’m not a nutter, so there must be some other sane people who like you. In your universe. Or something.”

 

“I’ll have to get back to you on that,” said Arthur. He slumped back against the sofa. “This just doesn’t feel real yet.”

 

Merlin frowned, then stood up and walked over to the bookcase. “Hang on,” he said, tugging something big and leather-bound out of the bottom shelf. “Here.” He held it out.

 

“What’s that?” said Arthur.

 

“Our wedding album,” said Merlin. “Take a look?”

Arthur set his pizza to one side. The pages creaked as he turned them. There they both were, Merlin and other-Arthur, in matching suits. Morgana and Gwen in bridesmaid dresses, Lance and a dark-haired man he didn’t recognise.

 

“That’s Will,” said Merlin. “He and Lance were both the Best Man.” He reached out and turned the page to a photo of a small army of children. “Those are my little cousins.” He turned the page again, and there was Arthur’s father, beaming out of the photo, looking actually happy, for once. Arthur traced the upraised edges of the picture.

 

“Was he really alright with this?” he said. “My father. We me – I mean, with him –”

 

“Arthur promised him he’d still get grandkids,” said Merlin. “Then he was fine with it.” Arthur winced. The idea was appalling.

 

“Grandkids?” he forced out.

 

“We talked about it a few times,” said Merlin. “We were going to adopt adorable Chinese babies and they’d call you Dad and me Daddy. And then you said we should name one Buster and the other one Daffodil, but I don’t think you were serious.” He shrank back against the sofa, hugging a pillow to his chest.

 

“We’re going to find a way to switch us back,” said Arthur firmly.

 

“I know,” said Merlin. “I just – it was silly, anyway. We were just joking around.”

 

Arthur closed the wedding album and traced the gold letters on the front with his fingers, letting his pizza go cold.

 

 

*

 

 

The problem was, everything was unspeakably awkward, and it was a one-bedroom flat.

 

“I can sleep on the sofa, if you like,” said Merlin, half into his pyjamas. He did not seem to be finding things nearly so awkward. Arthur was jealous.

 

“No, it’s your bed,” said Arthur. “Maybe I should –”

 

“I think we can manage to share,” said Merlin. He pulled the covers back. “Don’t worry. I won’t try anything.”

 

 

 

 

*

 

 

Merlin, Arthur learned, liked to have his cereal with yoghurt instead of milk, and he liked grapefruit juice. He hummed to himself as he pattered barefoot around the kitchen. He used organic all-natural shampoo, and he liked to sing in the shower. He took packed lunches with him to the university library most days, and he made one for Arthur as well, for him to take to the office. When he left, he kissed Arthur good-bye out of habit.

 

Arthur had been looking forward to going in to work. He had been hoping that that, at least, would be the same. But the differences became apparent the moment he stepped in the door.

 

“Good morning, Arthur,” said the secretary. Arthur started.

 

“Oh, um,” he said. “Good morning…” What was her name again? It was the same woman, he’d seen her just last Friday, but he didn’t think he’d ever ask. “Sophie?”

 

“Are you alright?” she said. “You look a bit peaky.”

 

“I’m fine,” he said. “Just tired. Monday morning and all.” She smiled at him prettily and went back to typing, nails clicking on the keyboard.

 

In the lift, he met one of the interns, the one who he quite _clearly_ remembered  shouted at in the copy room last Friday, but all he did was smile pleasantly and wish him a good morning as if he really meant it.

 

It wasn’t until mid-morning, when someone arrived at his desk with a cup of coffee, that he realised what was different.

 

They all _liked_ him. The people he worked with – the same people, even – had been tip-toeing around him constantly, as if he would explode at any moment. They were all nervous, with snide little glances and whispers when they thought he wasn’t looking. They were polite to his face, of course, but there was no feeling behind it. He certainly wasn’t on first-name terms with any of them. He’d always had a bit of a temper. It wasn’t his fault.

 

“Coffee, Mr. Pendragon?” said the girl, who was little and blond.

 

“Thank you,” he said. “Um. Valerie?”

 

She frowned a sweet little frown. “Vivian, Mr. Pendragon,” she said. “Are you alright?”

 

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I just didn’t sleep well last night.”

 

“Chamomile tea,” she said. “My grandmother swears by it.”

 

“Thank you,” he said. “I’ll try that.”

 

She smiled and offered him the biscuit tin. He took two.

 

 

*

 

 

Lance texted him just before lunch, asking if he wanted to meet up, and that was normal, at least. Lance worked at the library down the road, and their lunch breaks were at the same time, most days.

 

They met up in their usual sandwich bar, made their usual orders, and for a few minutes, Arthur could pretend everything was normal.

But then Lance said, “How’s Merlin?” with a little smile, as if that were perfectly normal too.

 

“Oh,” said Arthur. “Uh. He’s fine.”

 

“How’s his thesis coming along?” said Lance. Their sandwiches arrived. Arthur accepted his with utmost gratitude.

 

“Good, I think,” said Arthur. “He’s working very hard.” That was true, he was pretty sure. Merlin had left even earlier than he had.

 

“He works too hard,” said Lance. “You two haven’t been out in ages. You should come out for a drink this week.” Arthur shrugged. “Come on, it’ll be fun.”

 

“Maybe,” said Arthur. “Look, Lance – can I ask you a really weird question?”

 

“Go on,” said Lance.

 

“Since when does everyone like me?” asked Arthur.

 

Lance frowned. “What do you mean?” he said.

 

“People at work. I just – I dunno, they didn’t used to, and now they do. Everything’s changed and I only just noticed,” said Arthur.

 

“I know the feeling,” said Lance. “I don’t know. You’ve been a lot easier to get along with lately, if you don’t mind me saying. Since you met Merlin.”

 

“I thought that might be it,” said Arthur, staring down at his sandwich.

 

“You’re very lucky, you know,” said Lance. “What you two have. You just sort of… work. I wish I could find someone like that.”

 

Arthur frowned. “You’re single?” he said. Lance nodded slowly. “But what about – never mind.”

 

“What about what?” said Lance.

 

“I was just thinking of Gwen,” he said. Bloody hell. They were _engaged_ in his universe, were they not even dating here?

 

“What about her?” said Lance with a little shrug.

 

“I just think you two would work is all,” said Arthur.

 

Lance raised an eyebrow. “I never really thought about it,” he said.

 

“You should talk to her,” said Arthur. Lance stared. He smiled and bit into his

sandwich.

 

 

*

 

 

Despite everything, he couldn’t help but think, as he walked back to his flat, that he’d had a good day. Better than he’d had in a while, certainly. Though getting halfway home before he remembered that he was in an alternate universe where he lived on the other side of the city put a slight damper on things.

 

The flat was still empty when he came in. He propped his briefcase against the umbrella stand, loosened his tie, and wandered into the living room. He was just about to sit down when there were footsteps outside, a yelp and a thud of someone losing their footing, then the sound of a key in the lock.

 

Merlin had a teetering stack of books in his arms, more stuffed into his tatty rucksack, and a pair of black chunky glasses slipping down his nose. “Hi,” he said, beaming at Arthur.

 

“Need some help there?” said Arthur. Merlin nodded and unloaded half the books.

 

“I, uh, raided the physics department,” he said. “Got everything I could find on parallel universes. Hopefully there’ll be something that’ll help.”

 

Arthur stared down at the books. They all looked fiendishly complicated. “I thought you were working on your thesis?”

 

“I can put it on hold for a while,” said Merlin. “We need to get this figured out.” He shifted the books about in his arms, adjusted his glasses, and teetered away into the kitchen to dump the books on the dining table.

 

“I’m not really sure where to start, though,” he said as Arthur followed him. “I had a look through some of them in the library and it’s mostly theory. I don’t think there’s really a precedent for this, somehow. But it’s worth a try, yeah?” He twisted round to look at Arthur. He’d taken his glasses off and was sucking thoughtfully on the tip of one leg. Arthur swallowed. His stomach seemed to have tied itself in a knot.

 

“I, uh,” he said. “I don’t really know.”

 

“Do you remember anything about the other night?” said Merlin, hooking his glasses back over his ears. “Did you dream or anything?”

 

“I don’t think so,” said Arthur. He set down his own books. The stack promptly collapsed. Merlin let out a breathless laugh

.

“I think,” he said. “I think it’d be best if I made dinner first. Then we can take a better look after, yeah?” Arthur nodded. Merlin whipped his glasses off again and went to the fridge. “I think I feel like pasta.”

 

“So,” said Arthur after a moment or two of rummaging. “So, I guess you’re the woman in this relationship, then?”

 

“How so?” said Merlin, distracted, head and shoulders in the fridge.

 

“Well, I’m clearly the breadwinner,” said Arthur. “You do the cooking. And apparently you bake.”

 

“You love my baking,” said Merlin, coming out of the fridge with his arms full of jars. “And you really are exactly like you were when I met you, you realise.”

 

“I’m… sorry?” said Arthur. “I guess.”

 

“No, it’s actually kind of sweet,” said Merlin, rushing to a cupboard. “Tagliatelle or penne?”

 

“Either,” said Arthur. “Both. Whatever. I don’t care.” He stacked the books up again, then went to fetch his briefcase. He had some stuff that would need filing at home.

 

“Tagliatelle, then,” said Merlin, filling the kettle. Then he turned and frowned at the contents of Arthur’s briefcase.

 

“What?” said Arthur.

 

“You didn’t eat your lunch,” said Merlin.

 

“Oh, right,” said Arthur. “Lance and me went out.”

 

“That’s okay,” said Merlin, turning away again.

 

“What now?” said Arthur. “You’re not my mother.”

 

“It’s nothing,” said Merlin. “It’s fine.” But he had that horrible hurt look on his face again.

 

 

*

 

 

It wouldn’t have been so bad except Arthur just kept doing it. He remarked on how horrible the curtains in the living room were, and it turned out they’d been a house-warming gift from Merlin’s mother. He found a ridiculous tie in his wardrobe, and was marvelling at his own terrible taste when Merlin said,

 

“I gave you that for our anniversary last year.”

 

“Oh,” said Arthur, pulling a face. “Really?”

 

“You said you liked it,” said Merlin.

 

There was a short pause. Then, “My tastes are probably different here. In this universe.”

 

“Right,” said Merlin, pulling on his t-shirt and darting out of the room.

 

He always seemed to be moving. He was like a great lanky ball of nervous energy.

Arthur was constantly wanting to tell him to settle down. The only time he was ever still was when he was asleep, draped across the bed at awkward angles that seemed to get more endearing by the day.

 

By the second weekend, Arthur was starting to think he had a inkling of what other-Arthur saw in him. He was flicking through one of the parallel universe books on Thursday evening when Merlin came out of the shower, draped in a towel, damp and clean all over. “We’re going to dinner with your father this weekend,” he said. “In case you weren’t.”

 

“Hmm?” said Arthur. Then, once it sank in, “Oh, wonderful.”

 

That hurt look briefly crossed Merlin’s face again. “I like your father. We do this every month or so. It’s nice.”

 

“I haven’t seen him in ages,” said Arthur. He stared down at a diagram, tried desperately to understand it, then gave up and closed the book.

 

“You not following it either?” said Merlin.

 

“Not so much,” said Arthur. “I don’t think we’re getting anywhere with this. It’s all theory.” There was nothing much about moving from one world to another. Not even conjecture. He groaned andpushed the book away.

 

Merlin rested a hand on his shoulder, leaned down to press a kiss to the top of his head. “We’ll figure it out,” he said softly.

 

“You smell really good,” said Arthur, without thinking. Merlin laughed.

 

That was the beginning of it. Saturday night, they walked to his father’s house. At first, it seemed like everything was the same – the street, the little trees, the house, the shiny doorknocker – but then his father greeted them with a warm smile, a handshake, and even a hug.

 

“It’s so good to see you,” he said, sounding as if he really meant it. Then he waved them inside and offered him a drink.

 

The last time Arthur had had dinner with his father had been Uther’s last birthday. It had been the two of them and Morgana, and the whole affair had been positively excruciating. Morgana and Uther had been in one of their feuds. Uther had spent the whole meal asking them both increasingly pointed question and looking disdainful at their answers, before finally asking Arthur if he’d met anyone yet.

 

So far tonight, on the other hand, he had learned that his father had a secret passion for Arthurian literature, and found Merlin’s thesis absolutely fascinating. He spent half the meal discussing it, and the other half politely chatting about work and the weather and other ordinary topics. He even made jokes. Arthur didn’t even know his father _had_ a sense of humour.

 

“Are you feeling alright, Arthur?” he said as they were finishing off their second course. “You’re very quiet.”

 

“Sorry,” said Arthur, after a brief pause. “It’s been a really long week, that’s all.”

 

“You mustn’t overwork yourself,” said his father. “You’ll take care of him, won’t you, Merlin?”

 

Merlin smiled his shy smile, the one that made Arthur want to wrap his arms around him and whisper – he was _straight_ , damn it all.

 

 

*

 

 

Afterwards, when they were walking home, Merlin said, “I’ve been thinking maybe we should change our strategy. I don’t think we’re going to get anywhere with the physics books. I have some other ideas I want to try.”

 

Arthur nodded, but rather than giving a proper answer, he found himself saying “You’re kind of amazing, you know.” It just seemed to flow out of him.

 

Merlin swivelled around to face him, walking backwards along the pavement. “What was that?”

 

“I said you’re amazing,” said Arthur. “Because… well, you are.” Merlin slowed to a halt a few paces away, smile spreading across his face. “It’s like, everything that was wrong with my life, you just fixed it all.”

 

“I didn’t do anything,” said Merlin.

 

“You must have done something,” said Arthur. “Merlin – the last time I saw my father was five months ago. He glared at me a lot, then asked me when I was going to get married. Other than that all I get is emails about work. And then in this world, with you, it’s like he’s actually my Dad. It’s like you fixed us.” Merlin had taken a few steps forward while he was speaking, he was scant inches away now. “And I think you must have fixed me too.”

 

“I love you,” said Merlin, softly, as if it might end any second.

 

“Yeah,” said Arthur with a little shrug. “I wish I could be him. For you.”

 

He could feel Merlin’s breath warm on his face, and for a couple of seconds his heart seemed to flutter, but then Merlin tugged his hand out of the pocket of his hoodie and wrapped it around Arthur’s.

 

“We should get home,” he said. “Yeah?”  
  
  



	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For [this prompt](http://community.livejournal.com/kinkme_merlin/13287.html?thread=11347687#t11347687) over at [](http://kinkme-merlin.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://kinkme-merlin.livejournal.com/)**kinkme_merlin**. Arthur thinks the space-time continuum is messing with him, but perhaps it's actually making things the way they're meant to be.

Arthur saw Lance again for lunch the following Monday, found him grinning from ear to ear at their usual table in the sandwich bar.

 

“Arthur!” he said when he saw him approaching, leaping to his feet. “Arthur, you’re a wonder.”

 

“What did I do?” said Arthur, scanning the menu behind the counter.

 

“I went out with Gwen on Saturday,” said Lance. “You were right, Arthur. I don’t know how you knew, but you were right. It was lovely. Gwen’s lovely.” He sat down again, still smiling.

 

“I’m glad I could help,” he said, settling himself in his seat.

 

So he was already in a good mood by the time he got home and found that Merlin had come back from the library earlier than usual, and was now singing to himself in the kitchen as he baked a cake. He stopped in the doorway, feet half on carpet and half on tiles, and just breathed in the scent.

 

“I don’t remember the last time someone baked for me,” he said, dreamy.

 

Merlin smiled and offered him a mixing bowl smeared with raw cake mix.

 

“I’m good, thanks,” said Arthur. Then, “What is it?”

 

“Chocolate carrot cake,” said Merlin, licking at a wooden spoon in a way that did funny things to Arthur’s insides. “It’s in the oven.”

 

Arthur pulled a face. “Chocolate carrot cake?”

 

“You’ll love it,” said Merlin. “Trust me.”

 

“I don’t think so,” said Arthur. “I don’t like normal carrot cake.”

 

“Oh, I know,” said Merlin. “But you pulled the exact same face the first time I made it for you, but you loved it. You said it was your favourite cake you’d ever had.” He stopped licking and frowned, little crinkles between his eyebrows. Arthur wanted to smooth them out. Instead, he walked into the room properly and poked at the new stack of books on the table.

 

“What’s this?” he said.

 

“New research material,” said Merlin. “I went to the sci-fi and fantasy section in the Central Library, then I went to the DVD rental place. Got everything I could find.”

Arthur lifted the copy of _Sliding Doors_ , raised his eyebrows at the _Star Trek_ underneath.

 

“You really thing this’ll help?” he said.

 

Merlin shrugged. “Worth a look,” he said. “Plus it’s less dull.” He went back to licking his spoon. Arthur swallowed.

 

The doorbell rang. He didn’t think he’d ever been so relieved. “I’ll get that, shall I?” he said.

 

It was Morgana, every bit as glamorous and spiky and irritable as he remembered.

 

“Evening, Arthur,” she said.

 

“Hi,” he said, leaning against the doorframe as casually as he could manage.

 

“Something up?”

 

“I just came to give this back to Merlin,” she said, holding up a book. It was gone again before Arthur could register the title. Only that there was a sword on the cover.

 

“Alright, then,” he said, holding his hand out for it.

 

“Not going to invite me in?” she said.

 

There was a brief silence, like a battle of wills, then he sighed and opened the door for her. She marched straight past him, into the kitchen.

 

“Is that chocolate carrot cake I smell?” she said.

 

“What else?” said Merlin. “It’ll be done soon. I should start on the icing.”

 

Morgana hummed in response, set her book down on the table, and sifted through Merlin’s new research pile.

 

“What’s this?” she said.

 

“Oh, that,” said Merlin, getting down a clean mixing bowl. “We’re researching parallel universes.”

 

Morgana giggled. “Space-time continuum still fucking with you, Arthur?”

 

He held up his hands, opened his mouth to reply, but Merlin got there first. “It’s not funny, Morgana.”

 

“You believe him?” said Morgana.

 

Merlin turned to face her, wooden spoon in one hand. “Look,” he said. “Morgana. Arthur is my _husband_ , for Christ’s sake. Don’t you think I know my own husband when I see him?”

 

Morgana folded her arms and stared long and hard at Arthur. “He looks like your husband to me.”

 

“Well, try talking to him,” said Merlin.

 

“Hey!” said Arthur. “I’m not that bad. Am I?”

 

“It’s not that,” said Merlin. “It’s just that you’re not him. You’re Arthur, but you’re not the right Arthur.” He turned away and began to empty a pot of cream cheese into the bowl, movements brisk, sharp. Arthur took a hesitant step forward and rested a hand on his shoulder. Merlin shrugged him off.

 

Silence.

 

“How’s the research going, then?” said Morgana after a moment or two.

 

“Not well,” said Arthur. “There’s not really books on this. It’s all just the theory. And something about string, I don’t know.”

 

“So you’re moving onto fiction?” she said, eyebrows arching upwards.

 

“I just figured,” said Merlin, fetching a whisk from a drawer. “If you want to look up methods of moving from into parallel universes. Might be our best bet.”

 

“You probably just want to go back the same way you came, you know,” said Morgana, frowning down at the pile.

 

“That would be great advice,” said Arthur. “If I knew how I came here. Which I don’t.”

 

The timer on the oven chirruped. Merlin dashed over, all flailing limbs, half into his oven gloves. Arthur smiled. “It’s not all bad, though,” he said, mostly to himself. “I think I got lucky, to be honest.”

He could see Merlin smiling, even though his head was turned away. He could see it in his posture, the way he held himself. He sat back in his chair and found that everything had changed without his noticing.

 

“You can stay for dinner if you like,” said Merlin as he turned the cake out. “I’m making risotto.”

 

 

*

 

 

Later that night – much later, after Morgana had left and after they had watched the first of the DVDs Merlin had rented, after they had brushed their teeth and said good-night and got into bed – Arthur woke up, stared at the ceiling.

 

Merlin was lying next to him, sprawled on his front, limbs splayed out, like a giant gangly starfish. His pyjama top had ridden up, revealing a streak of pale skin, and Arthur went to pull it back down, but somehow he ended up just resting a hand there instead, stroking fondly. Was Merlin that soft all over, he wondered? The time they’d – you know, he’d been too caught up in the intensity of it to pay attention.

 

He was startled out of his thoughts when Merlin rolled over with a sleepy mumble, right over, snuggling up against him. For a moment, Arthur thought he must have woken up, but no. He was still fast asleep.

He hesitated for a moment, then looped an arm around Merlin’s waist, and pulled him still closer. He could always pretend he’d been asleep if they woke up like this, he supposed.

 

Merlin smelled of organic all-natural shampoo and toothpaste and chocolate carrot cake. It felt new and familiar all at once. He let his eyes fall close and just breathed it in.

 

 

*

 

 

They spent the next week working their way through the stack of DVDs and books. It was more interesting than the physics, at least, and easier to understand. Merlin took it completely seriously, poring over them every night, trying to find some grain of truth in all the fantasy and pseudo-science, glasses hooked over his nose or dangling from one finger.

 

Arthur was less engrossed in the task. He didn’t think they were going to find anything. He wasn’t sure he wanted them to find anything. But Merlin seemed so hopeful, he didn’t dare say anything to dissuade him.

 

But then on Friday night, just when it was starting to feel like routine, Merlin flung the book he was reading at the wall with a cry of rage and despair so sudden that Arthur had to take a moment to get his breath back.

 

By the time his head had stopped reeling, Merlin was curled up on the sofa, hands over his face, glasses dangling from between his fingers. Arthur crawled over, sat as close as he dared. “Merlin, what –”

 

“We’re not going to find anything,” said Merlin. “There’s no way back, is there?” He took a deep breath, took his hands away from his face. He had tears in his eyes. The sight made Arthur’s stomach plummet to the floor.

 

“Don’t say that,” he said, more gently than he’d thought possible. He ran a hand up and down Merlin’s back.

 

“I’m not going to get my Arthur back,” said Merlin, with grim certainty. “Don’t try and tell me I’ll get him back. You know I’m right. Don’t think I haven’t noticed.”

 

Arthur could think of nothing to say to that. After a moment, Merlin slithered away from him, fetched the book, and stood clasping it awkwardly to his chest in the middle of the room. “Forget it,” he said. “Forget I said anything. We should keep on going.” Arthur nodded and reached for his own book. “It’s just,” said Merlin. “It’s just I’d understand. If we don’t find anything. If you didn’t want to stay here. With me.”

 

Arthur gaped at him. Merlin stared back. The moment seemed to freeze, the room cold. Then he stood up, decisive, and tugged the book out of Merlin’s grasp.

 

“Idon’t want to go,” he said. “If you don’t think I’ve been trying hard enough to find a way back. It’s because I don’t want to go.”

 

“I don’t understand,” said Merlin.

 

“You’re amazing,” said Arthur. “You’re amazing, and wonderful, and _everything_ , alright?I don’t want to go back to my life. I know it’s selfish, I shouldn’t just leave him there, but I couldn’t stand it, not after this. I want to stay here. I want to stay with you. I want to be him, alright? I want his life. I want a house in the country with a big garden and a swing, and I want Buster and Daffodil, and I want to have a dog, and I want _you,_ God damn it. I want you. I think I’m falling in love with you. You sleep like a starfish and you sing in the shower and you smell good _all the time_ , and you fixed me, alright? I want to be with you.”

 

Merlin closed his eyes, turned his face away, blinking away the tears. Then he reached out, tentative, took Arthur’s hand, and said:

 

“I’m allergic to dogs.”

 

“Oh,” said Arthur. “Bummer.”

 

“We could get fish,” said Merlin.

 

“Fish are good too,” said Arthur, squeezing his hand. He put the book down on the coffee table. “We don’t have to give up, though. If you don’t want to. If you want him back –”

 

Merlin’s lips brushed his, just gentle, at first, testing, then kissing him properly, and it was as if the room had frozen again.

 

 

*

 

 

They fell into bed in a messy, laughing tangle, Merlin’s long legs falling open around his waist, t-shirt rucked up around his navel, hands reached for the button of Arthur’s jeans. Arthur buried his face in his neck and just _breathed_.

 

His shirt slipped off and vanished into a corner somewhere, and then Merlin’s hands were stroking up and down his chest, tracing the contours of him.

 

“Am I the same?” he said.

 

“Almost,” said Merlin. “I think he worked out a bit more.” Past tense, Arthur noticed with a little shiver. Merlin paused, stared up at him. “This is nice,” he said. “It feels sort of like a fresh start. Like we’re starting over.” His breath hitched as Arthur’s hands slid up under his shirt – he really was soft all over, it was amazing – then he flinched, laughing.

 

“Ticklish?” said Arthur.

 

“Very,” said Merlin, taking hold of his wrist and guiding him to somewhere less sensitive. Arthur took hold of the hem of his shirt again, pulled it off, nudging Merlin’s arms above his head.

 

“What do you want me to do?” said Arthur. “What do you usually do?”

“I don’t mind,” said Merlin, working the zip of Arthur’s jeans down.“Anything. Everything.” His hands dipped inside, stroking down Arthur’s thighs, and _oh bloody hell_. He kicked off his jeans, leaned down, and kissed Merlin, desperate, like a lifeline.

 

“Oh God,” said Merlin, when they broke apart. “I missed this so much. Missed you.” He closed his eyes, let his head fall back, let Arthur strip his jeans off.

 

“What do you want?” said Arthur, kissing him again. “Tell me what you want.”

Merlin licked his lips, then sat up, pushing Arthur’s arms away, reaching for the bedside table. A packet of condoms, half a bottle of lube. When Merlin slicked his own fingers into himself, Arthur thought his heart might stop.

 

He made himself wait a good thirty seconds – _one, two, three, four_ – before tugging Merlin’s hand away, reaching for the condoms, lining himself up. Merlin had done this before, he was relaxed, flexible, legs looping up around to tug Arthur in deeper.

 

One long smooth thrust.

 

Merlin was quieter than he expected. He hardly stopped talking most of the time, but now he just let his head fall back, eyelids fluttering, and gasped for air. When Arthur pulled back and thrust again, he moaned and pushed back, rolling his hips up, up, squeezing Arthur tight.

 

“Jesus – _Christ_ ,” Arthur gasped out. “So _good_.” Merlin moaned again as if in reply, spread out across the pillows, hair damp against his forehead, and Arthur was lost, it was like falling, like everything was beginning and ending all at once.

 

 

*

 

 

Afterwards – quite a long time afterwards, actually, Arthur felt a swell of pride at that – they lay tangled, damp sheets sticking to their skin. Arthur waited till Merlin’s breath slowed, then said,

 

“I’m not him.”

 

“I know,” said Merlin. “And I don’t know if – maybe this is cheating, I don’t know. I don’t think he’d mind. If he knew.”

 

Arthur knew what he wanted to ask, but he wasn’t sure he dared. “Are you doing this because I’m almost him, or just because you want me?” The question hung between them for a heart-stopping moment.

 

“I don’t know,” said Merlin. “But I know what I want. At least, I think I do.” He ran a hand up and down Arthur’s stomach. “I think we’ll be okay, though.” He settled down, head on Arthur’s chest, eyes slipping closed. “If you want I can make pancakes tomorrow. It’ll be fun.”

 

That was the last Arthur heard from him. He was asleep, soft breath tickling Arthur’s skin. The last thing he thought before he joined Merlin was that he really had got lucky with this, whatever this was.

 

 

*

 

 

Arthur woke up the next morning with the sun on his face. He rolled over and reached out, feeling for Merlin, then frowned, opened his eyes.

 

The bed was cold and empty. The first thing he thought was that it was all wrong, faced the wrong way, the sheets were stripy rather than plain red, the window was in the wrong wall, but – no. He was in his old bedroom.

 

It took a moment or two for it to sink in. He sat and rubbed his eyes, blinking at the familiar surroundings, then felt a flare of panic in his gut and threw himself at the door. “Merlin?” he called. “Merlin, are you there?”

 

The kitchen was empty, scrupulously tidy. The fridge was full of ready-meals, little cardboard boxes and plastic trays. The living room was cold and dark, phone books spread across the coffee table. There was a notepad and pen, a neat list in his own handwriting, then an angry, frustrating scrawl. He sank to his knees, one hand resting on the paper.

  
  


Well. He had his Merlin back now, at least. The other Arthur. That was something, wasn’t it?

  
  


“It’s not fair,” he choked out, and he was talking to himself, this was bad, this was very much not good. “It’s not – stupid _fucking_ universe.” He turned his head to the heavens – or the ceiling, anyway –and called out to whoever might be listening.

“Will you stop fucking around? It’s not funny! What is this, how you get your kicks?”  


  


Silence. His chest was heaving. He stood up, slowly, and looked at the notes.

There was the address of their flat, him and Merlin, the phone number, and a little cross. Merlin’s mother. Will. All had crosses. Then a list of numbers, all the Merlins in the phone book – there were really that many, no wonder he’d had trouble – but nothing but more crosses, then finally the angry scrawl. The pen was still lying where he must have thrown it.

 

This, he realised, this was what they’d been trying to achieve all along. He ripped the page out, screwed it into a ball, and walked away, legs shaking.

 

It wasn’t easy, breakfasting on stale cornflakes when you knew that somewhere there were Merlin’s celebratory pancakes. Merlin made good pancakes. Merlin made good everything.

 

It took him half an hour to unscrew the paper in desperation. The rest of the day to work his way down the list, though any other likely-looking numbers in the phone book. He got snapped at more than once. Some of them seemed to think they were being called up just so their name could be commented on.

 

Then he called Morgana.

 

“Afternoon,” he said, trying to sound as casual as possible.

 

“You sound more like yourself,” she said. “I haven’t heard for you in days. Look, I’m sorry I said you were acting crazy, but really, you were very rude.”

 

“Yeah, I’m sorry,” he said. “I don’t know what came over me.”

 

“Are you done with the whole space-time continuum thing, then?” she said, in a tone that said _you better be_.

 

“I think,” he said, “it’d be more accurate to say that it’s done with me.” Then, “You doing anything tonight? I want some company.”

 

“Oh, I can’t,” she said. “I’ve got a thing. Me and some girls from work. Maybe tomorrow, yeah?”

 

“Yeah,” he said.She hung up the phone with a breezy good-bye. He wondered fleetingly why she hadn’t picked up on his misery, but maybe he didn’t sound that different to her.

 

Later on, he put a chicken tikka ready meal in the microwave, stood back and watched it spin round and round and round.

 

 

*

 

 

Monday morning, on his way into work, he said, “Morning, Sophie,” to the secretary, purely by habit. She looked up, startled, raised her eyebrows, then said,

 

“Good morning, Mr. Pendragon,” with just a hint of sarcasm. Little enough to deny if he called her on it. He paused, breaking his stride, and squeezed his eyes shut.

 

The intern in the lift gave him barely a mumble in response, then started trying to edge away from him, eyes flicking back and forth nervously. It was suddenly more than Arthur could take.

 

“Oh, will you stop looking so fucking _scared_ all the time!” he cried. “What do you think I’m going to do?”

 

The intern stared at him, mouth hanging open. Exactly that, Arthur supposed. He took

a step back, a deep breath. “I’m sorry,” he said. “That was very rude. I apologise.”

The surprise on the intern’s face was kind of delightful. “It’s just… do you ever have one of those days where it feels like the entire space-time continuum is trying to fuck you over as much as possible?”

 

“I can’t say I’ve ever had a day like that, sir,” said the intern, each word more hesitant than the next. The lifts doors opened with a _ding_.

 

“Then you’re a very lucky man,” said Arthur, patting him on the shoulder. “Nice tie.” He strode away, intern staring after him, baffled.

 

The slight good mood he had gained was broken as soon as he sat down at his desk. There was a single terse email from Uther, a few questions about work. Nothing personal. Not even his name. He stared at it, eyes burning, suddenly missing his father very much.

 

The blond girl, Vivian, looked at him as she walked past, and she must have noticed, she must have done, he might actually have been crying by now, as much as that shamed him, but she said nothing.

 

 

*

 

 

A month went by.

 

He saw Morgana and Gwen. Gave the vaguest answers he could to their questions about his behaviour, let himself be gently mocked – _who’s even called **Merlin** , I mean really_ – and chastised. He exchanged emails with his father. He went to lunch with Lance. He wanked off to every porn magazine he had, then surfed the internet for clips with skinny dark-haired young men, but he couldn’t find one with the right ears.

 

He chased after every likely-looking man he saw on the street. He went round to the university and demanded to know where he could find Merlin Emrys. He was forcibly removed from the university admissions office. He wandered around the city, great looping circles, looking for something, anything at all, but there was nothing.

 

Eventually, all he could do was crawl into his lonely bed at the end of the day, stare up at the ceiling, and pray that it would happen again.

 

After four weeks of that, he could stand it no longer, and he did his best to put the whole incident out of his mind. Threw himself into his work.

 

 

*

 

 

It was getting to be September, and he was running very late. He dashed down the stairs, half-in, half-out of his suit jacket, dashed back up for his briefcase, then raced out again, into the street, straight into a woman walking her dog. He gasped out an apology, slowed down to a walk. He needed coffee very very badly. There was a café not far from his office, he could stop there, and then it would still be hot when he got in. They might even have something he could buy for breakfast as well. He stumbled away down the street, clinging to that small comfort.

 

The café was small and grubby and cramped and loud. He found himself edging between tables to get to the counter, skidding on the floor from time to time. He was starting to regret his decision. There was a Starbucks just down the street, he should have gone there instead.

 

By the time he had shouted his order three times just to be heard over the din (also, he wasn’t sure the staff really spoke English), his mood was positively foul. He hurried away between the tables, eyes on the door, blessed cool air and _space_ , even if only for a few minutes before he got to the office.

 

It was only moments before he tripped, foot catching on something that felt like some kind of tripwire, as if someone were doing it on _purpose_ , God damn it. He crashed to the floor, coffee spilling out in a great brown puddle.

 

“Oh, for the love of God,” he moaned, pulling himself up onto his elbows, the bustle of the café resuming around him after a momentary shocked, curious pause.

 

And just, just when he was thinking that the universe really did hate him, a hand was clutching at his shoulder, helping him up, and a voice was saying, “I’m so sorry, that was totally my fault, I shouldn’t have left my bag there…”

 

Dark hair. Blue eyes. Completely ridiculous ears. Black chunky glasses sitting crooked on his nose. Everything else just faded away. “It’s you!” Arthur exclaimed, leaping to his feet.

 

“Um, hi?” said Merlin, adjusting his glasses.

 

“My name’s Arthur,” said Arthur. “Hello.”

 

“Okay?” said Merlin. “Look, I’m sorry about your coffee, I’ll pay for another one if you like…” He had a few books and a notepad and pen spread across the table, haphazard. No laptop. What had happened to his laptop? His clothes looked even rattier than Arthur remembered as well. One of his shoes seemed to be coming apart at the toe.

 

“I don’t care,” said Arthur. “It’s fine. It’s better than fine. It’s great. It’s… it’s fine.”

 

“Okay, good,” said Merlin. “Cause I really can’t afford that.” He turned back to his notes. Arthur caught his shoulder.

 

“What’s your name?” he said, because he had to ask, even if he already knew.

 

“None of your business,” said Merlin.

 

“I told you mine,” said Arthur. “Come on.”

 

“Look,” Merlin snapped, turning back to face him. “I’m kind of busy here, alright? So can you just go away and leave me alone?”

 

“No,” said Arthur, then, “Oh, Lord. I’m meant to be at work –” he checked his watch. “– ten minutes ago. Right. Better make this quick.” He took a deep breath. “Go out with me.”

 

Merlin stared. “What.”

 

“Go out with me,” said Arthur. “On a date. Tonight. Or tomorrow, tomorrow’s good too. Or any day this week, really, I’m not doing anything.”

 

Merlin sighed, took off his glasses. “Look,” he said. “I’m sure this works for you most of the time, I don’t know, but I’m just not interested, alright?”

 

“Yes, you are!” Arthur exclaimed. “You just don’t know it yet. Promise. If you go out with me, you won’t regret it. I guarantee it.”

 

Merlin turned back to his notes. “It doesn’t matter how long you stand there for,” he said. “I’m not going to shag you. Please go away.”

 

“You’re right,” said Arthur. “This is stupid. I’m making an idiot of myself. I’ll come in again.”

 

He turned, walked away a few steps, then spun around and darted back. “Hello,” he said, “I’m Arthur. You’re gorgeous. Please go out with me.”

 

Merlin blinked at him. Then, joy of joys, he began to laugh. “You’re very strange,” he said.

 

“You’re wonderful,” said Arthur.

 

“You don’t even know me,” said Merlin. He began to suck on one leg of his glasses again, thoughtful.

 

“You’re thinking about it, though,” said Arthur. “I can tell. Come on. One date. It’ll be amazing. I promise. If it’s not amazing, I’ll, I dunno, give you your money back.”

 

Merlin looked around, his glasses still in his mouth, as if expecting an answer to appear somewhere. On the menu, perhaps.

 

“Those glasses make you look like a sexy beast,” said Arthur. Merlin took them out of his mouth and stared at them

 

“You think?” he said. “I’d have switched them years ago, I just couldn’t afford new frames.”

 

Arthur dug around in his pocket for a business card. “Alright,” he said. “Here is a card. With my number.” He thrust it at Merlin. “I have to get to work. Promise me you’ll call me, yeah? You won’t regret it.”

 

Merlin took the card, squinted at it, put his glasses back on. “Why are you so sure,” he said. “You’re really not my type.”

 

“Well, my type is women, to be honest,” said Arthur. “I just have this feeling. Like you and I would be amazing.” He check his watch again. _Shit shit shit_. “I have to go. Please call me.” He cupped his hands together, pleading, then stumbled out of the café, head reeling.

 

 

*

 

 

It was two days before the phone rang. He had spent most of the evenings sitting on the sofa, staring at it, willing it to ring, but when it actually happened, he was in the kitchen, heating up a can of baked beans.

 

“Hello?” he said, then, “Guy from the café?”

 

“Um, speaking?” said Merlin’s voice. “Hi. Arthur, wasn’t it?”

 

“Oh, thank _God_ ,” said Arthur. “I didn’t think you were going to call.”

 

“Well, this is kind of insane,” said Merlin. “I just met you. You don’t even know my name.”

 

“Tell me your name, then,” said Arthur.

 

A pause. The line crackled. “Merlin,” he said. “I’m Merlin.”

 

Arthur let out a breath he hadn’t known he was holding. “Merlin,” he said. “That’s a great name. That’s the best name ever, actually.”

 

“Most people just laugh,” said Merlin, doubt and relief all at once.

 

“Well, most people are stupid,” said Arthur. He switched the phone to the other side, rushed to turn off the cooker. “Anyway. We’re going out.”

 

“I didn’t say that,” said Merlin. “Maybe I just called to tell you no.”

 

“We’re going to go out,” Arthur repeated. “I’ll buy you dinner.”

 

“See,” said Merlin. “I have this horrible feeling you’re a nutter, but your business card looks legit, and I checked out the company. And I can’t really afford to pass up a free meal right now.”

 

“Thank you,” said Arthur. “Thank you so much. How about Chinese? Do you like Chinese?”

 

“I love it,” said Merlin. “Actually.”

 

“Right,” said Arthur. “Chinese it is. Tomorrow night? You free tomorrow?”

 

“I’m not doing anything tomorrow,” said Merlin slowly.

 

“Right,” said Arthur. “Great. Seven o’clock, alright? I know a really great place.”

 

 

*

 

 

Merlin shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He looked like he felt out of place. He looked like he was still wearing the same tatty clothes. He had the same rucksack with him, definitely.

 

“You okay?” said Arthur, once they’d ordered.

 

“I’m fine,” said Merlin. “Just tired. I came straight from the library. It’s cheaper than getting the bus where and back.”

 

“Where do you live?” said Arthur.

 

“Outside the city,” said Merlin. “With my mum.” He slumped down a little in his chair. “I used to have a flat nearby but I couldn’t pay the rent.”

Arthur wanted to offer to help. He really did. He must have done, in that other world, he must have made sure Merlin was alright, but he couldn’t now, not on a first date.

 

Instead, he just said, “You’re a student?”

 

“I’m working on my PhD,” said Merlin. He toyed with his chopsticks. “Medieval poetry.”

 

“Sounds fascinating,” said Arthur. He smiled.

 

 

*

 

 

Merlin was quiet through most of the rest of the meal, quieter still once they got outside. Arthur wanted to take his hand, but he didn’t dare. They ambled along, Arthur chatting away, Merlin muttering responses, then came to an abrupt halt in the little pool of light beneath a streetlamp.

 

“The bus stop’s just down there,” said Merlin, nodding down the street. “Last bus is in about five minutes, I should catch it.”

 

“Can I see you again?” said Arthur.

 

Merlin tugged his hands further into the pockets of his hoodie and sighed. “Look,” he said. “Look. You seem really friendly, and you’re certainly enthusiastic, and I really appreciate the meal, that was great, but I just don’t see this working out. We don’t have anything in common, and well,” he gulped, “well, I need to focus right now. My thesis just isn’t coming together, I don’t think I can afford to get distracted, and I –”

 

Arthur held up a hand, silenced him. “Please,” he said. “Just trust me, alright? We’d work. We would be _amazing_.”

 

“You don’t know that,” said Merlin, firm, a little sad.

 

“Yes, I do,” said Arthur. “And I can tell you how I know, if you like.”

 

“Go on, then,” said Merlin.

 

“Alright,” said Arthur. He’d been hoping it wouldn’t come to this. “I’ll tell you. But two conditions, yeah?” Merlin nodded. “First, you have to promise not to interrupt me till I’m done, cause this is going to sound completely mad, but you’ve got to hear me out. And second, you have to promise to just suspend your disbelief for a few minutes, yeah?”

 

“Right,” said Merlin. “I can do that.”

 

Arthur took a deep breath. “Okay,” he said. “About a month ago, the space-time continuum started to fuck with me.”

 

“The space-time –”

 

“The space-time continuum, yeah,” said Arthur. “I woke up one morning and I’d switched places with myself from an alternate universe. Just like _that_ ,” he snapped his fingers by way of demonstration. Merlin frowned at him, looking as if he rather wanted to started edging away. Or possibly run like hell. “So, I woke up in this other universe, and that’s where I met you.”

 

“In another universe,” said Merlin flatly.

 

“Right,” said Arthur. “And – well, this is where it gets really crazy, to bear with me.”

 

“It gets crazier?” said Merlin. Arthur ignored him.

 

“We were together,” he said. “We were – well, we were married.”

 

“Married,” said Merlin.

 

Arthur nodded. “Right. We were married. We had a wedding album and everything, you showed it to me. And it was amazing, right? You were amazing. It was like, my life – that life, that other life – it was pretty much perfect, and it was all because of you. And we worked, we really did. I don’t think I’ve ever been so happy. But then just when I realised I didn’t want it to end, we switched back, me and the other Arthur, and, well, I thought I was never going to see you again, but I did, I found you, and you know what?”

 

“What?” said Merlin.

 

“I’ve never been so glad I didn’t go to Starbucks,” said Arthur. Merlin was silent. He had on his _I call bullshit_ face. “You don’t believe me.”

 

Merlin shook his head. “I should go wait for my bus,” he said. “Good night,” He turned to walk away, but Arthur stopped him.

 

“Wait,” he said. “I can prove it, alright? I will prove it to you.”

 

Merlin gave the bus stop a longing look, then screwed his eyes shut for a moment. “Alright,” he said. “Go on.”

 

Arthur let go of him, stepped back and collected his thoughts. “Okay. Your mother’s name is Hunith. You like yoghurt on your cereal instead of milk. You sing Disney songs in the shower. You _never_ sit still. You sleep like a starfish. You had a pet rat when you were a kid, and her name was Rosebud. Your best friend’s name is Will, you’ve know him since you were both three and he pushed you in the paddling pool at playgroup, and he’s still the person you go to when you’re miserable. You don’t like beer, but you love cider, even the really cheap shit. You keep a toy rabbit with one ear in your underwear drawer, his name’s Stanley, your Dad gave him to you when you were a baby, before he left. You make a really amazing chocolate carrot cake that shouldn’t work but does. You make packed lunches with little pasta salads in. You love to cook. You’re allergic to tomatoes and dogs and nickel, which is why you don’t wear a watch, you can’t find one that doesn’t give you a rash.” He took a deep breath. “When you order in Chinese food you almost always get egg fried rice and either sweet and sour pork or chow mein. You like tagliatelle because it looks like ribbons. You don’t believe in God, but if you did you think he’d look like Morgan Freeman, like in _Bruce Almighty_.” He was running out of steam. “Um. You only ever use organic all-natural shampoo. You smell really good all the time. You recycle everything you can, and you made me recycle as well, even though I couldn’t see the point. Your thesis is on Arthurian literature, and your favourite poet is  Chrétien de Troyes, especially the poem with the knight and the lion. You hate air freshener because you think it makes the flat smell like a dentist or something. And you like it when – no, wait. Scratch that. You’re very ticklish.” Merlin gaped at him. “Just under the ribs.” Arthur gestured. “But you don’t like being tickled.”

 

Merlin tilted his head to one side. “That,” he said. “That was… how did you…”

 

“I told you,” said Arthur. “I was married to you. For three weeks. And all that, everything I just said, I think it’s all wonderful. I think I’m half in love with you already. And I thought, I used to think that the universe was just trying to fuck me over, but now I’m wondering if it was just making things how they were supposed to be.”

 

There was a long pause. Then, “Beowulf,” said Merlin.

 

“I’m sorry?” said Arthur.

 

“My thesis,” said Merlin. “It’s on Beowulf. I thought about doing Arthurian lit, but I thought it would be kind of silly. I mean, I’m called Merlin, I’d just look ridiculous.”

 

Arthur stepped forward, took him by the shoulders. “Merlin, you never look ridiculous. You’re just all-round wonderful. And I’m just sorry I don’t know what to do. I mean I got you to fall in love with me once, but I don’t know what I did, so I don’t know how to do it again, but it can’t be that hard, right?” Merlin didn’t answer.

 

“Come on. We’d be amazing. I promise.”

 

“Either you’re telling the truth,” said Merlin, “or you’re a really diligent stalker.”

 

“If it helps, when I woke up with you and you said we were married, I thought you were some sort of stalker as well,” said Arthur. “But I was wrong!” He smiled.

 

Somewhere down the street, there was a rumbling of an engine. “That’s the last bus,” said Merlin. “S’leaving.”

 

“You can stay at mine,” said Arthur. “I won’t try anything. Promise.”

 

Merlin pulled his indecisive face. His actually indecisive face, not the one he pulled when he was pretending to make you fell better before saying no.

 

“I don’t know what else to say,” said Arthur quietly. “I just – oh, look.” He leaned forward and kissed Merlin gently. Merlin made a surprised sound, flinched away, then relented, melted into it. And it worked, somehow. It shouldn’t have done, they’d only just met and they were standing under a streetlamp on the corner along from the bus stop, but it worked. When they broke apart, Merlin was even a little breathless.

 

“Beowulf isn’t really working,” he said. “I could… switch back to Arthurian literature. Maybe.”

 

Arthur reached into the pockets of his hoodie, drew out his hands and held onto them tight. “I’d like that,” he said. “I’d like that a lot.” He kissed Merlin again, just briefly this time, then wrapped his arms around him, buried his face in his hair, and breathed in.

 

 

*

 

 

_The proposal with the doves and the fountain went a little better this time around, if only because Arthur took care to do it on a dry day, but Merlin got caught up in the library and didn’t get there on schedule. By the time he showed up, on his way home through the park, it was starting to get dark, so Arthur ended up proposing in the pub down the street instead. Which was a step up from the hospital, at least._

__

 

_And they all lived awesome ever after.  
_


End file.
